


still left with these hands

by grimnismal



Series: between two ears [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Equestrian, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Gen, Horse Racing, Horseback Riding, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Thoroughbred Breeding, equine therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimnismal/pseuds/grimnismal
Summary: One morning there's a horse in the yard and Bucky doesn't know what to do with that, or the memories it brings back to the surface. He puts his hands onto the horse and becomes something new. Or something old. Or something in-between.Or: the horse is a real, breathing metaphor and a conduit for Bucky in his healing from his trauma.
Series: between two ears [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706566
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	still left with these hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based on Boot Theory by Richard Siken and this fanfic is based upon [this art](https://twitter.com/askbuckybarnes/status/1232534293932494848) by my friend [Nick](https://twitter.com/616buck) to whom this fic is dedicated.
> 
> I have done a _ton_ of research into the metaphorical breeding of Tundra, the metaphorical well-bred warmblood horse. Like, I spent HOURS going through potential matings that could create him. 
> 
> However, for those in the know of horses and those that just want to know what he looks like, he's a 17 hand high (172 cm/1.72m) bay and has a blaze with a stocking on his near (left) foreleg, a stocking extending over his hock on his near (left) hind leg and a stocking extending to just under his hock on his offside (right) hind leg. 
> 
> Tundra's Holsteiner Verband registered name is Balou du Tundra (his stable name is Tundra). He's a 2012 gelding by [Balou du Rouet](https://ihb.com.au/product/balou-du-rouet/) and out of a mare by [Quantum](https://sporthorse-data.com/sirepage/quantum). Tundra is a well bred show jumper, expected to be able to jump at least 1.50 metres in accordance with the actual showing capabilities of his real life bloodlines. 
> 
> For this fanfics purpose I am glossing over CACW with a vengeance. The way it happened in canon didn't happen here. We're all okay. There may or may not be ships, depending on how the story goes. I will update the tags accordingly and provide trigger warnings if need be. 
> 
> Also for the sake of transparency: I am from Australia and have experience with horses. However, the equestrian terminology I use in a commonwealth nation may be and is different to that of American equestrian terminology so there may be at times aspects of this work that may not line up with American horse people's lingo. If it slips in and you pick it up, let me know in the comments! I'm always happy to add a chapter note on the equivalent or change it if it isn't too integral to the story. 
> 
> I have no beta reader so any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> **Trigger warnings for this chapter:** non-violent descriptions of blood in a PTSD driven nightmare.

Sam arrives in the kitchen as Bucky is sitting with his newspaper (that he isn’t reading) and his clenching and unclenching hand (he needs Tony to look at it, it’s been doing it for days now) and takes one look out of the window before sighing with the most put-upon expression he’s ever seen in a man not wandering into a crime scene and/or his own murder.

“There’s a horse in the yard,” he says with a tone of exasperation as he fills up his cup with coffee. “Can you tell me why there’s a horse in the yard of the Avengers Compound?”

Bucky can, but he won’t. The horse outside can’t tell on him but it’s a 75/25 chance the local artificial intelligence just might.

“The equine was dropped off early this morning prior to your awakening,” says a snooty voice. “Specifically, at Sergeant Barnes’ request.”

So the artificial intelligence told on him. Big deal. He can stop clenching the newspaper and tearing it. He can.

“Someone gave me a horse for some reason. I don’t know why. I haven’t seen or touched a horse since the thirties, and those were dock horses who helped us unload the ships,” he mutters into his hastily smoothed newspaper. “They were _big_ , with feet the size of dinner plates. But nothing like this.”

He really doesn’t understand why someone gave him a horse but he spent some time with it when it was dropped off by disbelieving men in their transport truck, eyeing him suspiciously. He liked patting him.

(“It’s a gelding,” one of the transport men tells him. “His name’s Balou du Tundra. _(The man says it like “blue” and Bucky thinks that’s a stupid fucking name but he’s not rude and he’s not gonna say it to the man doing him a service.)_ It’s in his Coggins report. He’s nicely bred too. Lucky you, got some nice breeding in there. Hope you plan on showing him at least. Would be a waste of the bloodlines.”

He hasn’t looked at the ‘Coggins report’, nor has he ever even heard of one, but he supposes people who make a living transporting horses would have some insight onto the matter.)

Sam takes a final look out the window at the brown horse eating the (expensive) grass of the compound front lawn and sits down. His coffee sends steam up into the air and he takes a long sip before looking over at Bucky.

“You know you’re going to have to tell Tony about this,” he says meaningfully, whilst also staring at Bucky’s arm that’s started clenching without his say so again.

He could mean the horse or the arm, or maybe both, but Bucky’s not up to thinking too heavily this morning. He almost misses the routine he had with the dock horses as a little kid, mucking their stables on Tenth Avenue, leading them down to the Manhattan docks and back each day before going to school. It was hard work but it gave him strong bones like his Ma said it would, considering how he survived the fall and--

He quickly shuts down that line of thought and continues to pretend he’s reading the paper until Steve walks in, and he follows him from the door to the window to the sink as his instincts direct him to do so, and he blinks rapidly seeing the horse in the yard.

“There’s a horse out there,” he says, with a helpless tone to his voice.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with note of finality in his voice.

Steve sits near Sam and they have a conversation without speaking that only makes his head hurt thinking about.

Suddenly, he realises he wants the horse. It’s one of the only things he can say are _his_ and not out of necessity and desperation. He doesn’t know who gave him the horse but he’s his and he might not know shit about horses anymore but he can learn.

He gets up and stares out the window. The horse swishes its tail and continues to eat the grass. He thinks he’d like to work with horses, they don’t have a vendetta against him.

* * *

Tony only surfaces from his workshop in the compound after everyone’s been out and had a look at Tundra (he’s decided to use Tundra because _Balou du Tundra_ is fucking stupid and Bucky’s not one to cultivate stupidity or obnoxious registered names, as Friday helpfully shows him) and the kitchens entire supply of carrots have entered the stomach of the massive animal standing in the yard.

“I have a farm you can keep him at, you know,” the voice creeps out into the kitchen where Bucky is trying to read things on horsemanship and ownership on his starkpad, to no avail.

Tony sips his coffee and stands, hip cocked to the bench closest to the window, peeking out at the animal who has made a fine mess of his yard. Bucky looks at him intently and Tony’s lips quirk as he stares right back at him.

“Do you seriously think I would let someone deliver a seventeen-hand warmblood in my front yard without at least knowing 48 hours beforehand?” Tony’s eyebrows quirk to match his lips and he should really stop thinking about the man’s lips. “I’m rich. It’s a rite of passage to own thoroughbreds, ergo the horse farm. Though thoroughbreds aren’t the only thing there, I do breed warmbloods like your boy out the front. Fancy schmancy breeding you got there.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that he doesn’t have the capacity to understand or attempt to right now.

“Anyways, Happy is bringing the farm truck to take him. You are obviously welcome to attend with him. I’m sure Tundra would appreciate it, a friendly face he’s come to recognise. There’s a motorbike in the garage for you, too. You can’t walk all the way there every day. My employees aren’t there to care for _your_ horse full time, you have to be there too. Say hello to Melissa for me.”

And with that, he’s gone. Bucky stares at his starkpad and tries to understand what happened but finds, again, he’s left far behind everyone.

* * *

Happy (who is very much not happy) arrives to pick up Tundra after a few hours. Tundra seems to kick up a fuss about getting back into a truck but Happy has a firm but calm hand and directs him onto the truck. Bucky stares helplessly at the mess he’s left in the yard.

“Don’t worry about it, the boss has already called in the yard detailers to fix it up. He wouldn’t have let the horse come here if he wasn’t okay with it,” Happy says hurriedly as he directs Bucky into the back seat of the truck.

It’s a very awkward half an hour because Happy keeps peaking at the side mirror and Bucky has to pretend he isn’t nervous as all hell and feeling bad for it as he stares at his phone.

* * *

They arrive at the farm which is massive and sprawling, tucked away and nestled in the hills of New York state, near the Great Lakes. There are a few workers milling about and Happy waves to them as they drive down the laneway towards the large conglomerate of buildings that he can recognise as stables.

There’s two women, a white blond woman and a taller black woman, and a man waiting for them, all smiles and waves for Happy but wary about Bucky. The shortest blonde woman steps forward and introduces herself as Melissa, the black woman as Avery and the mousy haired man as Jonathan. He tucks the information away in his brain.

“I’m Bucky,” he says and shakes the hands of all them as Happy moves to unload Tundra.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky! I’m the Barn Manager of this site and I’ll also be the one working with you to get used to Tundra before letting you work by yourself. Though I should say if at any time you _do_ need help after we’ve let you work by yourself, just give us a call. We’ve left you a spot in the staff room lockers with a walkie talkie that you have to keep on your person the entire time you’re working with him, however once you start riding we’ll work something out to have another individual stationed with you,” Melissa says as she helps to unlatch the back of the truck with Happy.

There’s a sound of pawing inside the truck and stress huffing and Melissa clucks under her tongue disapprovingly.

“Now, now, we know you’ve been in the truck for a few hours but there’s no need to start that unnecessary behaviour,” Melissa murmurs as she climbs up the ramp to help Happy and to move the divider and untie Tundra, rubbing his neck.

Tundra stills when they finally lead him to the entrance of the truck, listening intently to the signals Melissa is giving him. She clucks and puts pressure on the lead and he moves off calmly and not showing any of the stress that he had prior to the unloading, outside of looking about like a telescope, head far above Melissa’s diminutive frame. Melissa tugs on the lead a little to get his attention back and walks him in some large circles before coming to a stop in front of Bucky.

“Come here and take the lead, Bucky,” she says calmly but with strength. “You need to learn how to do this and leading is the first thing to learn.”

He steps up with some nervousness and takes the lead. Tundra’s neck arches and his lips tremble.

“Stop worrying, you have four people around with horse experience. You want him to lead with his forelegs, his front legs, and his shoulder in line with your body. He shouldn’t have a distinctly large portion of his body in front of yours otherwise you’re at risk of being hurt if he shies and kicks out.”

He works to keep Tundra in line with his body, with only his neck and head before him. Tundra is calm and walks lazily up and down the small amount of road that he can walk him on.

Melissa calls him back and Avery takes Tundra’s lead from him and walks him into the barn that the road ends at. He doesn’t know what to do now, his mind and hands without anything to focus on.

Melissa brings him with her as she and Jonathan move into the barn.

“Mr Stark has provided you with full care board on the basis that you come and work with Tundra every day, except for those that you simply cannot. Pass us your mobile number and I’ll add it to the workers chat, so you can know what’s happening in case you’re on property and need to quickly report something, from Tundra being naughty to seeing a horse with an injury or lame. We appreciate all the help we can get and if you’re willing, we’ve been given the authorisation by Mr Stark to offer you a full-time stable hand position with the opportunity to diversify into different areas if you find you wish to specialise in something,” Melissa says as she sends Jonathan to a room that’s labelled as the “rug room”, with 6 fingers up.

“We work with Cornell University’s Veterinary Medicine school in our thoroughbred breeding program to provide placement for individuals likely to move into equine reproduction, so if you’re looking to maybe go to university, we have excellent vets who would be more than willing to let you shadow them for experience. We know you haven’t been to school for a good few years, but I’m sure with the recommendation of one of our veterinarians you could have a good chance to have your situation put into experience-based admission.”

Bucky had never even considered university, and to have it so plainly offered to him? He doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Thanks,” his voice is rough with emotion. “I appreciate that a lot.”

Melissa looks at him out of the corner of her eye, nods and by then Jonathan is back with a rug that seems big enough to cover a king-sized bed for Tundra. The horse is tied up and being groomed.

He gives Melissa his number before she leaves with Jonathan to check on broodmares and he moves toward his horse.

“Cross ties,” Avery says with a smile. “Makes it easier to move around the horses and keeps them from moving up against a wall which is dangerous to work with. Come here and grab a brush and give him a groom.”

She holds a lump of plastic with ovals of teeth looping on its flat surface and he’s unsure of what it does but it’s nothing like the harsh square, handled things of his childhood. He takes it from her.

“It’s a currycomb,” she says smiling as she works on his right side. “It’s probably really weird but it’s good to dislodge dead hair and dirt, helps to get their body producing oil to have a nice shiny coat like our boy does here.”

Tundra snorts and Avery laughs.

Bucky rubs Tundra’s neck first, the only area outside of his hindquarters to not have areas that would seem sensitive if he accidentally pressed too hard with his metal arm. The repetition of the circular rubbing is soothing and he slowly moves further down his body, even to the point of doing his hindquarters. Avery smiles at him and hands him a thick brush and tells him to brush the dirt and fur that were loosened up off him and to follow the flow of hair.

The air fills with dirt and hair and the smell of horses. It almost smells like home.

* * *

After grooming Tundra, Bucky is told that Happy is waiting out the front of the stables to take him back to the compound. He doesn’t really want to leave, the sense of warmth and the smell of horses calling to some part of his memories he’s not yet able to reach, still calm and languid.

(Avery tells him he’s a very calm man, that that is extremely valuable when working with any animal, but especially horses.

“They pick up on our emotions, the way in which we react. People who are nervous who can’t control it will have nervous horses and those that are calm but firm, those that don’t fly off the handle, will have good horses. You’re one of those lot, I think. You just need to have the skills to back it up, especially with warmbloods or thoroughbreds, they’re sometimes a more high-strung lot. Often, it’s how they’re handled, though. People expect them to go crazy and are nervous and they pick up on it,” Avery shares with him while she strokes Tundra’s nose.

He’s falling asleep in her hands, back leg cocked, dozing with his lower lip falling open. It’s a very undignified look for a horse but it shows he’s calm with what’s happening. That he isn’t stressed. He’s glad.)

Happy tells him he’s fine when he asks about the fact that he’s covered in horse hair and dirt, from his hands to his black jeans and sneakers, and getting into a car with leather upholstery.

“I’ve done this trip enough for the boss, it’ll survive another round. Just let me know if you need a ride out here and I’ll get the pick-up truck, alright?”

He agrees and they sit in content silence. Happy in the front and Bucky in the back, scrolling through his phone at horse tack shops, looking for something to buy at the advice of Avery.

* * *

Steve is surprised to see him covered in dirt and smiling when he gets back to the compound. It’s something he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it’s not something Bucky has felt like doing in even longer. It’s almost 6 PM by the time he and Happy had gotten back to the compound, so Steve had taken to making dinner. It was basic pasta bolognaise with vegetables put in.

By 8 PM, Bucky showered and said good night to everyone, and turned in early. For once he was tired enough to warrant it.

Before putting his phone away for the night, he sends an email to Tony, thanking him for giving Tundra a place to stay and a job offer. He’s not above accepting charity, at this point. He needs something to do.

He sleeps.

* * *

He’s dreaming and he’s seven again, working the dock cart horses before school.

This time he’s riding them, inexplicably large barrel between his legs, lumbering down Tenth Avenue towards Manhattan Docks. He waves to the Tenth Avenue cowboy that preludes the cargo train lumbering forward down the avenue. The cowboy waves back.

The draught he’s ponying tosses its head at the cowboy’s horn. James keeps a firm grip on the lead, little legs barely reaching around the dock cart horse he’s riding.

They lumber ever onwards, kids yelling and milling about. He will join them in school before heading down to the docks and making this run back to the stables down the alleyway off the Avenue.

There’s a boy with blonde hair and he can’t make out his face, all a blur and body bleeding.

It’s cold.

His cart horse is rearing and he’s clutching its neck--

_It’s so cold._

He’s screaming--

_He’s **freezing.**_

He--

* * *

He wakes, wet and cold all over.

He’s heaving in breaths and Friday is saying his name except it’s not his name. His limbs aren’t rigid and painful like he was waking up from cryo. There are no technicians and guards with guns milling about. There’s no smell of ozone like if he was about to be put into the chair--

“Sergeant Barnes,” a soft voice calls out from somewhere and everywhere at once.

“Sergeant Barnes, you’re safe. It’s 5:45 AM on June 21, 2017 and the temperature is forecasted to reach maximums of 68 degrees Fahrenheit. The day is scheduled to be overcast with a chance of rain in the late afternoon,” the soothing voice of the artificial intelligence fills his room.

He continues to breathe heavily until he isn’t anymore, and heaves himself up to the side of his bed. He holds his head in his hands for a few minutes before grasping for his phone. He has a new email, and it’s not from the authorities like every other one he’s had for the past 6 months.

_It’s no problem, Mr Freeze. Just don’t get yourself killed by the horses and we’ll consider it even. --TS_

He smiles a bit and gets ready to see his horse.

**Author's Note:**

> A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river  
> but then he’s still left with the river.  
> A man takes his sadness and throws it away  
> but then he’s still left with his hands.  
> \-- _Boot Theory,_ Richard Siken
> 
> Updates don't follow a strict time schedule, however I am trying to follow a weekly or bi-weekly posting schedule. Depends on my university schedule. 
> 
> To touch on the Tenth Avenue cowboy and Bucky's dream: there truly were cowboys who rode horses in front of the cargo trains running down Tenth Avenue and who blew a horn to warn the public it was coming. The place was called Death Avenue because so many people died from being hit by trains. [Here](https://www.livinthehighline.com/the-original-urban-cowboy/) is a link to a video of one of these cowboys and some pictures of them by an author who did a book on the Avenue. Tenth Avenue also ran parallel to the Hudson River and I'm fiddling with New York history to have the main Manhattan ship dock where the current Manhattan Cruise Terminal is right now. 
> 
> There were indeed a large amount of horse stables in New York City up until the late 1930s as horses were the main source of transport and working labour prior to the widespread implementation of engine based vehicles. They helped unload and reload ships, as well as being the taxis of the time period even until the 1930s. 
> 
> There are a small amount of horse livery/stables being run in the city of New York right now, with historic ties, however they are under increasing threat by lack of interest and/or property development. Many of these places are carriage horse stables now, however there are a select few that offer horse riding lessons, as well as therapeutic riding for those with disabilities. If you are interested [here](https://ny.curbed.com/2017/9/21/16341468/new-york-carriage-horse-stables-photo-essay) is a link to the photo essay that first caught my attention.


End file.
